Kate Motaung grew up on the shores of Lake Michigan before spending ten years in Cape Town, South Africa. She is married to a South African and together they have three children. Kate is the author of the e-book, Letters to Grief, hosts the Five Minute Friday blog link-up, and has contributed to several other online publications. She blogs at Heading Home and can be found on Twitter @k8motaung.
I’ve come to realize something about myself: Certain voices in the church congregation actually help me to worship better.
Take the guy at the back who sings bass, for example. The deep resonance of his voice strikes a chord and the resulting reverberations enhance my appreciation for the hymn being sung.
Or the group of girls in the front right corner who beautifully bridge into higher harmonies. Glorious.
I find myself trying to block out the collective voice, just to zero in on a select few that give me goosebumps and make me praise God for the gift of music.
This can be a helpful practice for life in general.
Let’s face it: The voices of the world serenade us from every side. They are constantly in our faces, and may be the loudest and most obvious … but they’re not always the best.
Yet we often give in to their melody and let our lives sing their tune.
We sway to the world’s definition of beauty.
We tap our feet to its rhythm of success.
We hum along to its chorus of priorities, meaning and purpose.
God’s voice, on the other hand, is not always the loudest.